The Other Foot
by Tyranusfan
Summary: What if Dean had been the one zapped by Ellicott, and not Sam? Character reversal of the Season 1 episode Asylum. Rated M mainly for strong language. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a reversal of the 'Asylum' episode. What would have happened had Dean been possessed instead of Sam? Sometimes, timing makes a big difference. I just wanted to see how it might play out._

_To be followed by a similar reversal of 'Faith.'_

_Merry Christmas, Faye!_

_I don't own Supernatural. Reviews welcomed._

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**The Other Foot**

Sam pounded down the dank, decrepit corridors of the South Wing of the Roosevelt Asylum. Dean had called him, telling him he was down in the basement and that something was down there with him. He double-checked his shotgun as he began descending the stairs, but he was doing it on reflex only. His mind was focused on only one thing. Dean.

_Please be okay... please be okay... please be okay..._

Emerging on the basement level, he raised his weapon and moved slowly out into the dark hallway leading to the boiler room.

"Dean!"

No answer. He had to suppress another surge of panic.

"DEAN!"

His own echoes were the only response. Silently, he crept forward, surreptitiously checking the doors along the fire and water stained wall. Not that stealth necessarily helped when stalking ghosts, but old habits died hard. He winced at the thought...dying in _any_ way, hard or soft, was a bad thing to be thinking about right now.

He came up to the large double doors that led to the boiler room. Hanging back, he peered in through the Plexiglas windows. It was hard to see through the dirt and grime, but he could tell that no one was inside. Just to be sure, he nudged the door open with the muzzle of the shotgun. He scanned the floor and walls, seeing nothing and no other ways out of the place. He decided to enter, just to triple check. Something felt "off" about the room.

A clanking noise at the other end of the hall caught his attention before he stepped through. He pulled back, guiding the door closed without making a sound. He moved towards the noise. It seemed to be coming from the other stairwell. Maybe Dean had kept moving, and was back upstairs. He kept his gun ready, and opened the door to the second stairway.

_Come on Dean...hide and seek time is over._

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Dean made his way quietly towards the front doors. He had found Ellicott's log and wanted to get Sam before looking for Ellicott's hidden operating room. He just hoped that Sam had gotten the kids out safely. He rounded the corner---and ducked back instinctively as the muzzle of a shotgun flashed just ten feet in front of him. Rock salt pelted the wall in front of him, chipping the already flaking paint. He slid down the wall, covering his face with his arms.

"Dammit! Don't shoot! It's me!" he yelled.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Cat yelled back, sounding both frightened and embarrassed.

"_Sonnuva_…" Dean climbed to his feet and stumbled around the corner with a bewildered expression, "what are you still doin' here? Where's Sam?"

Gavin looked at him like he was crazy, "He went to the basement…you called him."

Dean frowned, "I didn't call him." _What the hell_---

"He cell phone rang," Cat chimed in, "he said it was you."

_Crap_…. From what he'd found, Ellicott's little chamber of horrors was in the basement.

"Basement, huh? Alright, watch yourselves," Dean started back towards the hall, "and watch out for _me_!"

He pulled the clip out of his handgun and pocketed it. He wasn't sure why, but he was getting a bad feeling about this place. His hunting instincts were screaming at him that it was all wrong. Unloading the deadly weapon before heading downstairs just _felt_ right to him. He trusted his instincts.

_Damn teenagers_, he griped silently, _like they've never seen a horror movie before…always snooping around haunted-ass places like this_…. _What are they even still **doing** here? I told Sam to get them out of the way!_

He moved quickly and quietly down the hallway. He wasn't sure if stealth really mattered that much when dealing with angry spirits, but dad's Marine-style training was hard to shake. It had its uses. He descended the stairs two at a time, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might point to where Sam had gone.

Jesus, had Sam forgotten everything he'd learned as a kid? He should know that spirits can manipulate thoughts and mimic voices. He should have been more careful and not trusted any old phone conversation in this shit-hole. Another, quieter, voice reminded him that Sam had probably come down here to save his brother's ass, not on a stroll. But Dean's annoyance silenced that voice. Sam was so keen on being a 'normal' guy, that he had gotten sloppy and let his hunting skills get soft.

_Wouldn't be like that if he'd stayed home with us. With **me**_. _But no, he had to go off and be Mr. Abercrombie & Fitch. Play school with a bunch of preppy know-nothings. Like nothing I ever did for him mattered..._

Dean shook off the disgruntled thoughts. He needed to be clear-headed if he was going to find his brother in this maze of rooms and hallways. Besides, if he was honest with himself, Sam didn't deserve to have those thoughts directed at him anyway.

Slowly making his way down the hall, he chanced calling out, "Sammy? Sam, you down here?" Nothing answered. He called out Sam's name a couple of more times. Still nothing. Passing by a set of rusted doors marked "Boiler Room" and "Biological Hazard," he stopped and doubled back. The air was colder in this area. That usually meant trouble was nearby.

Seeing nothing through the windows, he nudged the door open a little further with the muzzle of his shotgun and stepped inside.

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Sam sprinted back towards the front doors, wanting to see if Dean had doubled back past him. _This place is a freaking maze_….

He skidded around the corner and into the small foyer where he'd left Gavin and Cat. He stopped cold when he found himself on the business end of one of their shotguns. He extended his arms in an attempt to look less threatening.

"Whoa! Hey, it's me, Sam!"

Cat cocked her head with apparent confusion, and slowly lowered the gun, "Uh…what the hell's happening here? Dean just went looking for you."

"Dean? He was here? When?"

"A little while ago, after you went looking for _him_," Gavin offered shakily.

Cursing under his breath, Sam pulled out his cell and dialed Dean's number. The phone had no signal. _Of course…what perfect timing_…. He was really starting to hate this place. He silently cursed their Dad for sending them here in the first place. _Sometimes I don't know if I want to find him or kill him_….

Pocketing the useless phone, he looked back at the two terrified teens, "Okay. Look…I'm going back to see if I can find Dean…stay here."

Cat snorted, "Where else would we go?"

Sam frowned, but couldn't really argue with her attitude, he was starting to feel the same way, he started off and called over his shoulder, "And if Dean comes back, keep him here with you."

He jogged back down the musty halls, hoping to find Dean before his elder brother went downstairs. Something about that area was bugging him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He saw nothing but the now familiar halls and dark, wrecked rooms flanking him on either side. Dean was no where in sight, so he reluctantly headed back down the shadowy stairwell.

He emerged in the basement, his shotgun drawn, and called Dean's name. Only echoes answered, like before. He glanced cautiously behind him as he proceeded down the corridor, and then turned back…only to almost walk right into Dean.

He jumped back and stifled a yelp. He felt relief and anger flood through him simultaneously, "Dean! What the hell…? Why didn't you answer?"

Dean just stared at him and shrugged, then spoke as if he hadn't heard the question, "What are you doing down here, Sam?"

"Looking for _you_, the kids told me you came down here. What's your reason?" he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Like everything was just _OFF_ somehow. He examined Dean's face, but his brother looked calm…even casual. He even still had the backpack that carried their arsenal slung over his shoulder and zipped up. Not much could have happened to him.

"Looking for you," Dean answered simply.

Sam lowered the shotgun and sighed, "Well…okay…now what? Did you find anything in Room 137?"

Dean glanced around, again acting casual, and gestured nonchalantly with his own shotgun, "Just Ellicott's log book. He was experimenting with surgical techniques, trying to cure the patients' insanity."

Sam blinked, that might be useful information, "What kind of experiments?"

Dean looked disinterested, "Some kind of extreme rage therapy, I dunno…."

Sam pursed his lips, "Maybe that's it…. Ellicott was performing these wacko experiments on them and made them worse."

Dean didn't look convinced, "It was the _patients_ who rioted, Sam."

Sam frowned, "Yeah, probably because of what he was doing to them!"

Dean returned the frown, but still looked vaguely disinterested, "He was trying to help them. What's the big deal?"

Sam's frowned deepened. _Why is Dean playing devil's advocate all of a sudden?_ "What do you mean, 'what's the big deal?'? If he drove them even more insane with these sick treatments, then that's probably what _caused_ the riots, and all this trouble."

Dean shrugged, "I don't really see the connection…they probably would have rioted anyway. Doesn't matter."

Sam stared at him, shaking his head. _What's his problem?_ "Well, where did Ellicott perform these experiments?"

"Why?"

Sam huffed in frustration, "Because whenever he did it might be a focal point for the haunting…or at least we might find out something else….?" It was strange that Dean wasn't getting it. He was usually quicker on putting clues together. But he still appeared disinterested.

"Beats me. I looked around down here…while worrying about _you_, by the way…and I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

Sam shined his flashlight across the doors nearest them. It was the Biohazard doors he had passed earlier. The place was still giving him the creeps, and he was beginning to wonder if that in itself wasn't another clue. His 'Shining,' as Dean called it, might be picking something up.

"Come on, let's give this one another once over," he said heading for the doors. Dean turned but didn't follow right away. Sam could feel Dean's eyes following his every move. _What's wrong with him?_

Sam raised his weapon again, and led the way into the Biohazard room. It was just as decrepit and nasty looking as the rest of the hellhole known as the Roosevelt Asylum, and Sam was beginning to feel dirty just walking around in it. They sooner they finished this hunt the better.

He heard Dean stroll in behind him and stop a few feet from the opposite wall. Dean's odd behavior was bugging him. It wasn't like him to be so dismissive of possible evidence during an investigation like this. Their dad had made it clear to them over the years that no detail was too small when it came to hunting. One clue unexplored could mean the difference between life and death.

"You know, if the experiments were secret, then it stands to reason Ellicott might have had a secret operating room too…" he tossed out, hoping Dean might pick up the train of thought. A noncommittal grunt was Dean's only response. The indifference was quickly moving from bugging Sam to worrying him. _Something's not right_….

Getting no help from his brother, he stopped and listened to the room; something was making noise…like air rustling through holes in the walls. He noticed that one section of the wall didn't quite meet the floor. There was a small gap. He reached a hand out and felt air moving near it. _Gotcha!_

"Dean, check it out…I think there's a hidden room behind this wall…."

This time there was a more definite reply, but it wasn't the kind that Sam expected.

He heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked.

"Sam…enough," he heard Dean whisper in a low, dangerous voice. He turned to find himself facing his very pissed-looking brother. Though, he found that the muzzle of the shotgun that was aimed at his chest was worrying him even more.

"Dean…what're you doing?" Sam asked, a pit of cold fear forming in his stomach. The look in Dean's eyes was furious…murderous. He'd seen the look often enough, but had never been on the receiving end before…not even as kids when their horseplay sometimes went too far. _Uh oh_….

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, his mouth hanging open in shock. His brother didn't play around with weapons…he was pointing the gun at him for real. _Did something get to him down here?_

"Dean…calm down…just--just put the gun down…."

"Why?" Dean sneered, "Is that the _smart_ thing to do, College Boy? Learn that at _school_ did ya?"

"Dean…."

"You know what? _Just shut up, Sammy_! For once in your spoiled life, just shut the hell up and stop back-talking."

Dean sniffled suddenly, and absently used his free hand to wipe away the blood that had started dripping from his nose. Sam watched, the cold dread of sudden realization seeping into his thoughts. _Crap…Ellicott did something to him._

"He got to you, didn't he Dean? Ellicott did something to you down here."

Dean laughed, but it was more condescending than humorous, "Ah-ha! Super Genius thinks he's onto something! Once again, _poor Dean_ needs his little brother's help to get through the big bad hunt…_can't do anything on his own_. Forget the four years I spent watching Dad's back and hunting alone while _you_ went off to party and fuck sorority chicks. Nooo…Sammy can't be loyal to his family…Sammy needs his _freedom_…."

"Dean…" Sam took a halting step forward but Dean stepped back and gestured with the shotgun.

"Stay right there…don't touch me you freak."

Sam pursed his lips, trying to see past the vitriolic ravings and get through to Dean before he hurt himself. _Or me_…. He took a page from Dean's book and fought bravado with bravado, "If you wanna kill me you're gonna have to do better than that. That gun's filled with rock salt, it can't kill m---"

He was cut off when the right barrel of the gun abruptly discharged. He felt the cloud of tiny but _sharp_ salt grains hit him with breathtaking force, sending him flying backwards into the fake wall he'd found. The wooden door gave way, letting Sam hurtle through it into the secret room beyond. He landed hard, winded by the impact, and barely held on to consciousness. He heard Dean's sarcastic retort as he landed.

"Nah…but it'll hurt like hell, Sammy boy…."

For a few seconds, Sam could barely breathe. He heard Dean walking toward him, but couldn't lift his head to see. Desperately trying to catch his breath, he concentrated on inhaling…only to start coughing violently. It felt like he'd cracked his ribs.

He flinched when the backpack dropped forcefully to the ground beside his head. Dean came into view as the wheezing subsided, leveling the shot gun at Sam's head at point blank range. Sam knew that even if the next blast didn't kill him, it would probably mangle his face pretty badly, and most certainly blind him. He struggled to find his voice, and find some way out of this nightmare.

"Dean…you don't wanna do this…. Come on, man, fight it. You're being manipulated!" he forced out between coughs. Dean's only reaction was a smirk.

"No, I'm just being honest for the first time. Not so defiant now, are we Tough Guy? No place to run away to now."

Sam knew that Ellicott was somehow controlling his brother, but something inside him wanted to know what Dean was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

Dean grew angrier, "You know _exactly_ what I mean! I took care of you! I practically raised you while Dad was too busy hunting! I took all the flak when Dad was angry…I faced all your bullies…I spent my whole life trying to keep you safe…and what do you do? You run off to California, first chance you get. Like nothing I ever did mattered! **_You abandoned me!_**"

Sam didn't want listen to this. He didn't want to listen, because he knew that Ellicott was behind all this.

Because Dean probably wouldn't remember saying any of this, and would feel bad for it when he found out later.

Because, on some level, he knew that every word of it was true.

Every last word.

His instincts told him to keep Dean talking, keep his attention on the conversation and _off_ pulling the trigger a second time. But part of him told him to answer Dean's accusations, whether Dean really meant them or not. He couldn't help but think back to St. Louis…the shapeshifter had told him how Dean felt; he just didn't want to believe it at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure. Could it be that Ellicott's influence here was simply forcing Dean to tell the truth? The thought caused a knot to form in Sam's stomach.

Glancing from the shotgun to his brother's hard eyes, he answered the accusation in the only way he could. He addressed Dean with honesty.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Dean."

"Nah, of course not…" Dean sneered, "Well, I never wanted to spend my childhood changing diapers and cooking dinners for an ungrateful little **snot** like you. But we don't get what we want in life, do we Genius?"

Sam had no answer for that. He knew his life recently hadn't been exactly ideal. Between Dad going missing and Jessica dying it had felt like Hell on Earth…but this latest peak into Dean's head made the last six months feel like paradise. He had no idea, until now, that Dean harbored such bitterness towards him.

Part of him wanted to scream back at Dean. He had idolized his older brother…still did to a degree. For most of his life, Dean had seemed capable of doing anything. He had been like a real-life superhero in Sam's youth. Sam loved him like no one else…not even Jessica. Dean had practically raised him, being an older brother, best friend, and surrogate parent all at the same time.

Knowing now what that role had done to Dean, Sam couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault. He had been the demon's target that night, not Mary Winchester. He had been the youngest and least able to defend himself on all those hunts. He had been the one to forsake Dean's work and run off to college…only to end up getting Jessica killed, too.

Dean…and Jessica…and his Dad…probably would have lived a _happy_ life if Sam had never been born.

A glint of light drew Sam's eyes to Dean's waistband, where the grip of Dean's 9mm handgun was visible in the gloom. Raising his eyes back to Dean's livid face, he wondered what it'd be like to just let Dean finish it. One shot. A chance to pay for what his very existence had done to so many people that he loved. Sam couldn't say for certain that he'd regret the decision.

Dean, despite the fury painted across his features, seemed to notice Sam's shift in attention, and followed Sam's gaze down to his waist as well. Seeing the pistol, he grabbed it, discarded the shotgun, and then pointed the silver handgun directly at Sam's face.

Sam's urge to just let go intensified, and he was strangely calm...much more so than he would be normally when people shoved deadly weapons in his face. He found the sensation curious. Like being on the brink of relief. Like reading the last page of a book. He almost opened his mouth to ask Dean to fire. Then a singular thought crossed his mind.

_Walter Kelly._

Kelly had killed his wife after being affected by this place...then he had turned his rage onto himself. The odd calm was replaced by fear. If Sam let Dean kill him, then his brother most probably would do what the police officer had done and kill himself.

Sam couldn't let that happen, no matter how much he wanted to give up.

"Dean," he said slowly, trying not to antagonize, "you don't want to do this."

Dean snarled, "Stop telling me what to do, Sammy...I've been at this a helluva lot longer than you! I know what I'm doing! You don't know everything, Smart Guy."

_Smart Guy. _The old nickname stung when spat at him like that. He wondered if any of Dean's nicknames would ever feel the same after this. Presuming they survived, of course. He had been ready to let it all go a moment before, but now, the shift in priorities back to trying to save _Dean's_ life reopened him to Dean's tirade of hurtful accusations.

Sam shook it off, but his eyes kept drifting back to the gun...something didn't look right. With his trained eye, he examined the weapon as surreptitiously as he could, trying to find the problem. After a painfully long moment, he found it. The clip was missing. The gun wasn't loaded!

_Dean must have been ready for something like this_... Sam thought, marveling at his brother's ability to see the worst case scenario every time. He was grateful for his brother's pessimism today. He might still fix this; all he needed now was a distraction. One occurred to him, but he hated putting Dean through it. _He won't remember...he's possessed_...

"Okay, Dean..." he started, struggling to keep his voice hard, "you hate me that much...do it. Just shoot. Put me out of my misery _and_ yours."

"I will," Dean ground out, "I'll do it..."

Sam was only partly relieved to hear the note of conflict in Dean's voice...maybe he was fighting it. He couldn't let up though, if he wanted his plan to work.

"Then DO IT! NOW!" he shouted, hoping to hell he wasn't somehow mistaken about the gun "Shut up the College Boy for good!"

Dean growled, Sam's taunting overwhelming Dean's obvious efforts to fight the possession. He pulled the trigger.

Sam froze, waiting to be proven wrong, and make his last mistake.

Nothing.

Dean looked from Sam to the gun and back in confusion, then pulled the trigger again.

And again.

And again.

Sam smiled a grim smile, and swung his longer legs up while Dean was distracted. He kicked forward hard, his foot slamming into Dean's groin. His brother went down with a yell. Sam scrambled to his feet, adrenaline helping him ignore the pain in his chest and back, and stepped over to face Dean, who was struggling to face him.

One right hook and Dean was out. Sam staggered back, gasping from the effort. A small smile crossed his face as he looked at his unconscious sibling and shook his now aching hand. _Damn he has a hard head_….

"Sorry, big brother..."

**Sam stumbled back to the duffle Dean had dropped…well, thrown at him. **He gathered up the salt and lighter fluid, and walked further into the room, searching for a likely spot for Ellicott's remains to be hidden. It didn't take long to find.

The demented doctor in question had apparently spent the better part of four decades stuffed..._stuffed_...into a small cabinet near the examination tables.

Sam gagged at the stench, but a quick glance to Dean's already stirring form gave him added determination. He scattered salt and lighter fluid along the remains and turned to get the lighter from the bag. He found himself face to face with the gray, shimmering ghost of Ellicott.

Before he could react, Ellicott pressed his..._its_...hands against Sam's head. His world seemed to explode as the spectral energy lanced into his skull. Ellicott's bizarrely kind words floated through his consciousness.

_**Don't be afraid...I'm going to make you all better**_...

The pain transformed into anger...rage... _How dare Dean blame him...Dean was Daddy's little soldier...how could that pathetic little man_---

Sam forced himself to ignore the fury that was building inside him, and strained to find where the lighter had fallen. He found and ignited it.

One toss and the nightmare was over.

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Sam nodded to Gavin and Cat in farewell, and turned his back, gingerly lowering the duffle bag into the trunk. With the adrenaline rush gone, he could feel every ache and pain. His chest was on fire, and every time his shirt moved he had to forcefully suppress a gasp.

"Hey, guys," Dean said. It was the first time he'd spoken since coming outside, "stay out of haunted asylums from now on okay?"

The kids replied but Sam didn't bother listening, he closed the trunk, biting his lip as he raised his arms, and made his way to the passenger side door. He felt Dean's eyes on him, but didn't look up until he heard Dean speaking again.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, but said nothing. He was still feeling the lingering effects of Ellicott's zapping, and he found himself somewhat angry with Dean. His rational mind assured him that it was merely the ghost's influence. After all, he had no reason to be mad...Dean had been forced to tell the truth about how he felt for the first time in a long while.

It was all kinds of fucked up that it took a rage-inducing spirit to loosen Dean's tongue.

"Sammy...look, I-- Well, I'm sorry about what happened in there..."

"Don't worry about it, Dean."

Dean didn't look like he was going to let it go, "But...that stuff I said...I didn't mean it..."

That got Sam's attention.

Usually when possessed, people didn't remember anything. Ellicott must not have been possessing people in the usual way, "You remember all that?"

Dean nodded glumly. It was odd. He shouldn't remember. What did that mean? _If he was aware of what he was saying…if it wasn't being forced out of him_----

"I didn't mean it, Sam," Dean repeated, breaking into his thoughts.

Sam felt a sickening feeling of panic bubble up from within and struggled to keep his face neutral...he hated to test Dean's honesty, but he needed to know...he tossed Dean an innocent-sounding question.

"Not even a little?"

Dean responded in the worst way Sam could have imagined.

He hesitated before answering.

_Oh God_...

"Sam..."

Sam pursed his lips and averted his eyes, slipping a mask into place the way he'd seen Dean do it all his life, "S'Okay. You ready to hit the road?"

He climbed into the car and closed the door before Dean could answer. He squeezed his eyes shut; breathing through the pain in his chest...a pain that he knew was only partly due to being shot.

His mind was reeling, _He meant it...he meant it all...he hates me_..._he hates me for what I did_... He felt his world imploding in on him. He automatically remembered every odd glance and frown...every time Dean had looked at him oddly but refused to say why...

The sound of Dean's door opening startled him. He let his head lean against the cold window and shut his eyes again...shutting out Dean along with the rest of his shattered reality.

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When they arrived back at the hotel, Sam kicked off his shoes by the bed and padded silently into the small bathroom. One look in the mirror at his exhausted features confirmed that he, in fact, looked exactly as bad as he felt. His chest ached badly, enough to make him think that he had bruised more than just his back when he'd been blasted through the hidden door. His jacket had absorbed alot of the rock salt grains, so that only a relatively small, circular area of his T-shirt was a tattered mess. _Guess it could have been worse_...

He shrugged off his jacket and started to tug his ruined shirt over his head, when a sharp pain in his chest made him hiss and grit his teeth. The shirt was stuck on a small red area of his skin, where a small spot of blood had formed and dried. He immediately regretted leaving the bathroom door open when Dean appeared from around the corner, drawn by the noise.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Sam ground out. He wasn't in the mood for a mother-hen right now...especially one that hated him enough to pull that trigger _four_ times. Dean wasn't so easily dissuaded though, as he was already examining the damage to Sam's torso.

"You're not fine Sammy...let me help you..."

"You don't have to Dean," Sam said quietly, "I can take care of it."

"Sam, come on...you're hurt."

Sam sighed silently, knowing it was a lost cause to argue with Dean when he was using that tone of voice, and let Dean help him remove the shirt. Dean had to carefully peel off the fabric, which made him wince as the scabbed cuts were reopened. Dean muttered an apology and started cleaning the wound. Normally, the level of care Dean was showing was heartwarming, a meaningful gesture between them that had become as much brotherly bonding as it was damage control. It had always made Sam feel loved.

Now it just made him feel guilty and lost. _Dean deserved so much better_….

"You've got a chunk of salt imbedded right there," Dean observed, shining a light on the area. Dean told him to wait and moved out into the main room. He returned a moment later with the first aid kit.

Sam reached for the metal box, intending to do it himself, "I can do it, Dean."

Dean waved him away, "You can...but I owe you at least this much..."

"You don't owe me anything, Dean," Sam replied tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut. _If anything, I owe you_...

Dean ignored him and used tweezers to remove the salt fragments from the aggravated wound. He finished cleaning it and taped some gauze down to keep it covered. Sam mumbled a thank you, popped a couple pain pills from the kit, and started to step out of the bathroom, but Dean stopped him.

"Wait, let me check your ribs."

Sam frowned, he didn't care about his ribs, "I just wanna sleep, Dean..."

Dean frowned back, "It'll just take a second...you know the drill."

Sam turned back and let Dean feel his ribs. He gasped when Dean pressed a particularly sensitive spot.

"Just bruised, I think. Nothing too bad."

Sam nodded in reply, and raised his eyebrows. Dean nodded and Sam retreated to the soft bed at last. Dean circled around him and sat on his own bed. Sam screwed up enough courage to glance in his direction and mutter, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You know...everything...you deserved better."

"Sam---"

"'Night Dean," Sam mumbled and turned away. He couldn't bear to look at Dean's regretful expression. _It's not his fault_...

Sleep didn't come.

Besides the physical pain in his chest, Sam couldn't stop repeating Dean's hate-filled words over and over in his mind. He sensed it when Dean finally stopped staring at him and rolled over. Sam reopened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there unmoving, but Dean's breathing finally evened out and he knew his brother was asleep. He wasn't why that was such a relief. Sam wondered why Dean had come to get him in the first place.

_He said that he couldn't find Dad alone...but if he hated me that much_...

Morose thoughts tumbled through his mind until the pain meds claimed him at last and his world faded to black.

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The past two weeks had been rough on both of them. Little things...like who used the last of the warm water, where to eat, who cleaned the guns...every thing seemed to erupt into an argument. Half the time, Dean wasn't sure what they were even arguing _about_. He knew Sam was hurting, but he felt too guilty about what happened to bring it up.

He vaguely remembered some old saying about an elephant in the room.

He suspected that Sam believed the hateful garbage Ellicott had dredged out of his mind, but every time he tried to talk to about it, Sam shut down. Dean didn't know what to do.

Surely, Sam knew how his own brother felt about him. But other voices in Dean's head told him the opposite. _How would he? You've never told him_.

Dean regretted ever having gone to that God-forsaken asylum. Not for the first time, he doubted his dad's judgment. He could contact them to send them on 'missions,' but not to tell them where he was? Deep down, he had as many doubts about their father as Sam did. But Dean had been following his Dad's lead since he was five...so he had to believe that John Winchester would do what was right for his sons. He _had_ to believe that. If Sam didn't, then Dean would have to believe enough for both of them.

What choice did he have?

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They'd been fighting all day. Again. Sam wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He knew Dean meant well. He trusted his brother. He always had. But Dean was so fucking pigheaded sometimes. Lately, since the asylum, things had only gotten worse. It was like they couldn't even talk without butting heads.

He wanted to scream: _Why do you care? Why did you drag me this far when you blame me for everything?_

But the words never came. Even now, after hearing the truth, Sam couldn't lash out at his brother like that.

Of course, he couldn't quite forget everything Dean had said either. Or the fact that he'd pulled the trigger _four_ times. _Actions speak louder than words sometimes_.

He came out of the shower, tossed his clothes over his bag, and slumped on the bed. Dean was reading something on the laptop and glanced up as he passed.

"I think I found a gig, if you're up to it. Some kids have gone missing in Nebraska. Sounds like a rawhead."

Sam nodded. He was too tired to argue, "Sure."

"Don't show too much _enthusiasm_, there, Sam..." Dean muttered with irritation.

"What? I said _okay_," Sam retorted, irritation flaring.

"If you don't want to check this out just _say so_!"

Sam sighed, "Dean...please. I don't want to argue. Can we do this in the morning?"

Dean seemed to deflate, like he was disappointed that Sam was backing down. He nodded and shut off the laptop, "Okay."

Sam pulled back his covers and slid bonelessly under the starchy hotel sheets. His chest wasn't aching quite as bad now, and the bruises left by the asylum had mostly faded away. _The visible ones_.

Dean moved to his bed, but kept his eyes on Sam the entire time. He spoke just as Sam's eyes were starting to drift shut, "Sam, if...if you wanna talk...about anything…."

Sam couldn't help the smirk that formed, "Heh. Now if that doesn't make the top ten list of Things I Never Thought I'd Hear Dean Winchester Say..."

Dean didn't share the humor; instead he just clammed up, "Okay. Goodnight..."

Sam lay there motionlessly, eyes shut. He listened to Dean shut off the lights and climb into the other bed. After that, Sam reopened his eyes and prepared himself for his now nightly practice of staring at the ceiling until exhaustion came. As usual, Dean was out just a few minutes later. He'd gotten used to these timeouts after Dean went to sleep. It gave him time to catalog all the ways he had managed to piss his brother off...again. Dean might call it brooding, if they had been speaking much anymore.

He wasn't _**trying**_ to aggravate Dean...lately he just seemed to be able to do it really easily. _I don't even know I'm doing it most of the time_...

He didn't know how much longer this passive-aggressive thing would last before it exploded in both their faces. _Or gets us killed_. Such musings would have to wait, however, as Sam felt his eyelids growing heavy.

About that time his brother's cell phone began to chirp. When Dean didn't answer by the second ring, Sam called out with some irritation, "Dean?"

Nothing.

_Great_... Dean was out cold.

Sam reached out, wincing as he stretched his still stiff pectoral muscles, and snagged the flip-phone off the nightstand.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end shocked him.

"Dad?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Here we are. Chapter 2 of my Asylum/Faith reversal. This part picks up about a week after 'Scarecrow,' the events of which occur more or less as in the episode._

_I'm pleased so many took interest in chapter one. I was inspired to experiment with a role-reversal on this one, and I'm gratified that others shared my interest. Thank you all._

_And thanks for waiting so long for part 2! Due to length issues, I've decided to split this up. There will be a chapter 3 to resolve the story._

_I don't own anything Supernatural. Reviews welcomed._

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**Chapter 2**

Sam released a silent sigh as he watched the neighborhood speed by outside his window. The last three weeks had been brutal. If the two weeks of healing after the "Asylum incident" and all the friction that followed between him and Dean hadn't been enough, the call from Dad had only made things worse.

The job in Indiana had been the last straw. After two weeks of keeping his thoughts to himself and Dean's passive-aggressive attitude problem...which Sam was convinced was simply Dean's misplaced guilt over shooting him in Rockford...Sam had finally exploded.

_Mom died when you were, what, five? Jess died six months ago! How the hell would you know how I feel?!_

That had been a low blow, to be sure, and he'd regretted it the moment it left his mouth. But Sam had been fed up with Dean's hero worship of John Winchester, and he couldn't stop himself. Of course, Dean had finally decided to be honest, too.

_I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man, Dean!_

The same faith that led them into that mess at the asylum...

_It's called being a good son!_

Sam had left the car at that, but the anger he felt at the remark was equaled by the pain he felt. What if Dean was right? He'd spent his life balking at both John Winchester's orders and his skewed view of life. But, what if he had been the one that was wrong all along? Maybe Dean's opinion of his leaving for college was right? He'd brought this curse onto his family after all...what right did he have to abandon them to the hunt he was responsible for starting?

_You're a selfish bastard, you know that?_

Dean's unconscious echoing of the accusations from the asylum rang in Sam's ears, and that, more than anything, had eventually swayed his resolve to go off on his own to find his father in California. Sitting in that bus station with Meg Masters, he'd had little to do between talking to her and buying his ticket, and he'd thought alot about what Dean had told him...both willingly and unwillingly...during the past few weeks.

His brother thought he was a selfish, spoiled brat. That much was clear.

Sam really didn't like stating the idea that simply, but he was having trouble assembling evidence to oppose it. He wanted to hunt down the demon, regardless of how his Dad and Dean wanted to go about it...or for that matter, if they still wanted to at all. That _was_ pretty selfish, he had to admit.

Dean had spent his life protecting him, shielding him from harm, on hunts and even on the playground. He'd given up luxuries so that Sam would have an easier life, even when Dean had deserved those luxuries himself. That sounded like a good description of 'spoiled' to Sam.

_And I paid Dean back by skipping out on him and leaving him behind to go to college...I suppose that covers the 'brat' part_...

Despite all of that, he'd meant what he'd told Dean at the bus station inBurkitsville. He intended to stick this out...not only for revenge, but so he could try and pay back Dean just a little of what he owed him.

_If we're gonna see this thing through...we're gonna do it together._

It seemed that saving your brother's life from a pagan apple god repaired a few bridges. The week since then had been considerably more comfortable, at least on the personal front. But a blind man could tell that both of them had a helluva lot more to say, about everything.

Their latest hunt, however, wasn't going well, and it was consuming their attention. After finishing up in Indiana, they'd decided to follow up on Dean's lead in Nebraska. Some missing children and tell-tale signs of a rawhead had brought them to this neighborhood a few days ago. But they'd been anything but successful in stopping it so far. Since arriving, two more kids had been taken, and they'd unloaded four guns trying to bring the creature down to no effect.

That is, until this evening. Sam had finally run across a reference to rawheads in Dad's journal, and a way to kill them. Electrocution. To that end, they'd bought some off-the-shelf tazers that Dean had been jury-rigging all day to up the voltage and amperage on them.

There were few things Dean hated more than monsters that attacked children, and Sam could tell that Dean meant to send this thing to Hell tonight...hard and fast. Dean had been that way for as long as Sam could remember, for whatever reason. Dean had never told him why the ones that hurt kids bothered him so much more than "regular monsters."

Regular monster. _Our lives are strange_...

Dean's voice cut into his thoughts, "You're quiet tonight."

It was a question and a statement simultaneously. A Winchester specialty. Sam couldn't help but smile a little, "Just thinking. It's been a tough week." _Month_. _Year_.

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the road, "Well, we'll roast this thing tonight and then we can kick back for a couple of days. I haven't seen a good pool hall in weeks."

Sam nodded, trying to appear amiable. He caught sight of a dilapidated white house up the road, "He we go. That's the address."

Dean floored the gas pedal and closed the last half block distance to the house in mere seconds. When the Impala lurched to a stop in the driveway, both of them jumped out at almost the same time. It felt good to be in synch again. Sam had missed that in the weeks following their experience in the asylum. He followed Dean around to the trunk, willing his mind to focus on the task at hand. Dean popped the trunk and tossed him one of the modified tazers.

"What do you have these amped up to?" he asked, turning the surprisingly heavy weapon over in his hand.

Dean didn't look up as he adjusted the battery pack on his own tazer, "100,000 volts."

"Damn," Sam breathed. He knew Dean had been tinkering all afternoon with these things, but he hadn't realized just how powerful he'd made them. Dean seemed to read his thoughts.

"Yeah, well, I want this rawhead extra freakin' crispy."

There it was again. Dean, the professional, the one who stayed cool even when his own life was in danger, and often was the one to place that life in danger to begin with, was letting his emotions bleed into a hunt. Sam shook his head slightly. He sometimes forgot just how much a soft spot his older brother had for children in trouble. With a twinge of sadness, he realized that he'd once known that protection too…before he'd abandoned Dean for school.

Before Dean hated him enough to shoot him.

Sam focused again, pushing aside the troubling events of the past month, but catching only part of what Dean was saying to him.

"---you only get one shot with these things. Make it count!"

With that, he was off…marching towards the entrance to the cellar along the side of the house. Sam followed. They didn't bother to investigate the above-ground areas of the old, obviously abandoned house. Rawheads stuck to basements and cellars, setting up dens in unused structures like this one.

A rickety old door in the back of the house opened onto a flight of wooden slatted stairs. Sam could see the dusty floor of the cellar at the bottom. Light from nearby streetlights provided the only illumination. But it was enough to see that nothing was immediately blocking their way in.

They both gripped their tazers and flashlights, wrists locked together. Dean claimed he learned that pose from watching "The X-Files." Sam wasn't sure if that was true or not.

He'd learned the pose from Dean. He knew that much.

Shoulder to shoulder, they proceeded down the stairs as quietly as they could. The stairs, fortunately, didn't make too much noise under the weight, but he was fairly certain the rumble of the Impala's engine through the quiet neighborhood was enough to alert the rawhead to their approach. All they could hope for now was a fast and brutal attack. Throw the creature onto the defensive, and get their licks in before it could retaliate. _Dean's favorite kind of plan_.

They reached the bottom of the stairs in mere seconds. Nothing. The rawhead was no where to be seen. The swept the musty, damp room with their lights, searching for a possible place for the 6-foot-plus monster to hide. The room continued behind the stairs as well, but that area was swallowed in shadow. Sticking to the lit area, they crept forward.

A soft scratching noise drew their eyes to a large, splintered cabinet. Sam looked at Dean, who nodded and inched forward. As they closed in, Dean signaled him to open the cabinet. Gun at the ready, Sam stepped forward and yanked open the door.

Two terrified kids blinked back at them in the glare of the flashlights. Sam noticed Dean's expression soften somewhat, and quickly moved to the frightened children.

"Is it still here?"

The children nodded, whimpering slightly. Sam ushered them out of the cabinet.

"Get them out of here, Sam!" Dean ordered from behind. Sam normally would have bristled at being bossed around, especially after their recent argument in Indiana, but in the middle of the action wasn't the best place to debate it. He grabbed the kids and hurried toward the stairs, Dean close behind, guarding the rear.

They were halfway up when something snagged Sam's pant leg and with a violent tug sent him flipping backward, landing on top of Dean in a heap at the bottom of the steps. The children froze, screaming in terror and clinging to the wooden railings.

Jumping to his feet, Sam noted that Dean had lost his grip on his tazer, it was no where to be seen. Checking his for damage and finding it unharmed, he looked up at Dean, who was searching the floor for the lost weapon.

_We gotta get them outta here..._

He grabbed Dean and pushed him towards the stairs, "Dean! Go! Get them to the car!"

Dean hesitated, "Sam---"

Sam shook his head, "No time. Go!"

Frowning, Dean turned to head upstairs, "I'll be right back."

He took off, pushing the kids along with him. Sam scanned the area behind the stairs, looking for any sign of his quarry. He crept to the left, staying on the balls of his feet, tazer readied out in front.

The rawhead suddenly burst into view from behind the staircase with a roar of anger. Sam didn't spare even a moment to think, just acted on instinct and fired. Unfortunately, the rawhead took that very moment to lunge forward and the unfurling wires went wide, a complete miss.

_Not good._

Sam had no time to react as the creature charged, covering the short distance between them in the blink of an eye and batted him aside like a rag doll. He felt a heavy...paw? ...bash into his left side and then his feet left the floor. His next perception was the unforgiving brick wall of the basement stopping his momentum and ricocheting him back to the floor. He was trying to shake off the impact when he was brought out of his momentary stupor by an earsplitting roar.

He scrambled up and looked for anything he could use as a weapon against the enraged beast. His eyes landed on Dean's dropped tazer. Not believing his luck, he slid the ten feet across the floor, through a large, shallow puddle of water that covered this end of the basement, and snatched up the weapon. He aimed and fired.

He realized a mere second too late that not only was he still in the puddle, but the advancing rawhead's feet were as well.

_Oh, shit_...

Time seemed to slow down as he watched the deadly wires shoot out and hit the creature square in the chest. He was about to get up and out of the water when his world went white. Pain gripped him as his muscles contracted violently. The last thing he consciously experienced was a breathtaking agony in his chest just before blackness enveloped him.

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Dean finished wrapping the two trembling kids up in a blanket in the backseat of the Impala and told them to stay put before locking the doors. He turned and headed back for the house. Something was wrong, he could feel it. By the time he cleared the back corner of the old house, he was flat-out running, and he raced down the steps two at a time.

The first thing he saw was the fried corpse of the rawhead lying near the base of the stairs. It was quite obviously dead. _Way to go, Sammy!_

The second thing he saw was…no Sam. He glanced around, trying to pierce the shadows, and finally laid eyes on a pair of large shoes just inside the line of light from the streetlamps. There was only one person it could be.

"Sam!" he shouted, bolting off the steps and skidding to a stop in a large puddle that surrounded his prone brother. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure this one out. Rawheads. Electricity. **_Water_**. He felt for a pulse, and for a time-stopping moment, couldn't find one. Sam wasn't breathing. Dean started CPR.

At some point, he dialed 9-1-1. But he didn't remember using his phone when the paramedics arrived. All he knew was that Sam was lying near death in a cold basement.

And he was the one who had left him there.

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_Day 1_

The hospital was too cold. _How are you supposed to get better in a place like this? It's freezing!_ Dean grumbled to himself. Some corner of his mind told him that the temperature wasn't the only thing chilling him to the bone this morning.

Something wasn't right. Sam had been back in the examination room far too long for nothing to be seriously wrong. To make matters worse, the cops had shown up an hour before, wanting to know everything from what the dead thing in that basement was to how they knew where to look for them.

_We were just passing through..._

_I have no idea who that freak was...he was ugly though..._

_I don't know what it wanted...when we went to look, it---he attacked us with some kind of freakin' super-tazer. You guys have any idea what kind of _**_person_**_ would do that?_

Any other time, Dean would have laughed. For once, the evidence of their hunt was the only thing keeping them off the cops' suspect list. Between the carcass and the kids' story, there was no way he or Sam could be responsible Hell, the mother wanted to make Dean and Sam local heroes. _What a world_...

The nurse drew him out of his musings when she brought over the fake insurance card.

"Mister...Burkovitz?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged, taking the proffered card. He mumbled a thank you and turned back to the waiting policemen.

"So, you say you were just passing through?" one asked, leaping right in where they'd left off.

Dean nodded distractedly, "Yeah, yeah...we were lost, actually, trying to get back to the highway, when we heard the screaming and stopped...you know, to help."

They were interrupted by the ER doctor's arrival. The two cops offered condolences on his brother's injury and excused themselves. _Finally_. Dean turned to face the doctor, forcing himself to stay optimistic. He knew, though, that optimism was more Sam's specialty.

"Doc? How is he?" he said without preamble.

"Well...son, I can't sugar coat this...your brother has suffered a massive heart attack. It was triggered by the high voltage," the doctor replied gently. _Gently_ lobbing dynamite into Dean's thin veneer of optimism is what he was doing. Dean rallied.

"But…there's treatment, right? A prescription or something?"

The doctor's expression changed minutely, as if he was just realizing that the person he was talking to wasn't on the same page, "Um...we can make him comfortable..."

_Comfortable? Comf--- No_.

The dynamite hit its target, and the optimism evaporated. Dean was suddenly in a nightmare world where everything was spinning too fast for his brain to register. One thing clicked, though.

"H-How long?" he choked out.

The doctor shrugged as compassionately as he could, "A few weeks...maybe a month at the outside. Depends on how strong his heart was before."

Dean thanked the doctor and walked down the hall towards Sam's room on autopilot. The already cold temperature of the air in the building seemed to plummet.

_No. Nonononono_...

He caught sight of Sam through the small window in the door. His brother looked like he could be dead NOW. He was pale, almost gray. The dark rings around his eyes made it look like his eyes had sunken into his face. He was hooked up to more wires and monitors than Dean had ever seen.

_Death warmed over_... Dean banished the thought angrily, _No. I won't let it happen_.

He entered the room quietly. He couldn't tell from the door whether Sam was awake or asleep, and actually didn't want to wake the kid if he didn't have to. Not that this illness could be cured by a little rest or anything. _Nothing short of a miracle_ was the vibe he was getting from the doctor.

His stealth was a waste of time. As he reached the end of the bed, Sam's eyes opened slowly, and a weak smirk formed on his face.

"Getting rusty, big brother."

Dean forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, "You only heard me 'cause I wanted you too... Sam---"

Sam couldn't seem to maintain eye contact, and looked towards the television, "Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?" his eyes cut back to Dean, "Besides Oprah, I mean."

For once, Dean couldn't bring himself to change the subject, "Sammy..."

The mask of emotion on Sam's face, so _unlike_ Dean's own usually, slammed shut, "I don't want to talk about it, Dean."

"Alright," Dean sighed, "Well, then...I'm sorry."

That made Sam look at him, "What?"

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have left you alone down in that basement. I was supposed to look out for you."

Sam shook his head, "Dean...it isn't your fault. I was stupid, I wasn't watching where I landed and just shot the thing... I did this to myself, Dean. It's a dangerous job. It's over...don't blame yourself."

Dean bristled, "You sound like you've already given up," he hissed, feeling guilty for being angry with Sam like this but his anger overrode his guilt, "we still have options."

Sam looked too tired to argue the point; instead he just looked down at the sheet, "Yeah, Palo Alto or Lawrence. It's Lawrence, by the way."

Dean blinked for a moment, before it clicked, "Burial? You're talking to me about your _burial?_"

"It's something we have to take care of, Dean. Before---"

"No! You're not giving up on me. I won't let you."

Sam looked away again, "Dean...I know--- You know, when we were kids, I used to think you could do _any_thing..._fix_ anything. But this...you can't fix this. You can't stop it."

Dean straightened, his pride kicking in. He shot Sam his most determined expression, "Yeah? Watch me."

He just wished that he had some idea how to do it.

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_Day 2_

Sam pulled the blanket Dean had gotten him up closer to his chin to stave off the cold draft in the room. _Maybe it's not the cold at all...maybe dying just feels like this_. He wondered if Jess or his mother felt anything like this before they died. Sure, the circumstances were different, but surely, on some _basic_ level, the approach of death was the same for everybody. Right?

Seemed logical to him anyway.

Dean had just left. Again. He was stopping in every few hours, in between researching different ideas on how to cure Sam's failing heart. So far, he'd come up with nothing, as Sam expected. It wasn't that Dean was a bad researcher; it was just that this particular problem had only one possible outcome.

He found it morbidly interesting that he'd die because of a hunt. Seven months earlier he'd been on the verge of entering law school...getting zapped while trying to kill a murderous rawhead hadn't even been on his radar. _Funny how things work out_.

But, he couldn't say he regretted reconnecting with his brother. They'd had a hard time fitting together after four years apart, but for a while there, they'd been a team again. It felt good, fitting side-by-side with his sibling snugly, like a puzzle piece.

That was before Rockford. Before the Asylum.

Before he knew how Dean really felt.

Maybe bowing out now was a blessing in disguise. At least he wouldn't be a spoiled, ungrateful burden to anyone anymore. The guilty knowledge of his shortcomings washed over him with the same intensity that it had in that rotted out boiler room.

Maybe now his brother could give up the quest that the demon…that _Sam_ had set him on two decades earlier. Maybe even find a life of his own. He deserved it.

Dean was worrying him, though. Despite the ghost-induced confessions a month before, he was pretty sure his older brother would take this...his imminent death...very badly. The elder's impossible promise to find a way out of it all but confirmed that. Sam was afraid that if Dean put too much hope in finding a miracle cure, that he'd be that much more devastated when the end inevitably came. _Can't blame him, though...I'd be the same way_.

But how much was really Dean, and how much was simply the concern and responsibility burned into him at a young age?

No. Dean loved him...he wasn't so shallow as to just fake it for so many years. Sam just wished he was more worthy of it.

Dean would be better off without him. Sam was sure of that. He deserved a life without a spoiled baby brother to guard all the time. He knew that his brother needed to get on with living...for himself, not anyone else and not bowed under any obligation John Winchester had thrust into his arms at the tender age of five.

He also knew his brother well enough to know that he would _never_ see it that way.

Sam sighed; letting his eyes drift shut, he tried to sleep.

The irregular, staccato thumping if his broken heart kept him awake.

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_Day 3_

"...yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Jefferson. Yeah. I hope so too. I will. Thank you."

Dean clicked off his phone and held it briefly to his head.

_I heard about this guy in Nebraska...a preacher...says he can heal people. I haven't checked it out myself, but he sounds like the real deal for once_...

The words ran over and over in his head. A faith-healer. After two days and nights of searching every medical and home remedy page he could find, and printing out reams of passages and reading until his eyes hurt...he was at a dead end. Anything outside the box was welcome at this point. Even divine intervention…but, he'd put his faith in higher powers before, and look how that had turned out. _Ask Mary Winchester about guardian angels and God's will_… he thought bitterly.

But his options were…hell…he was **out** of options. This crazy preacher man might be Sam's last hope.

He stared at his phone for a few long moments, trying to decide what to do next. He hadn't seen Sam since the day before, and the length of time apart was worse than any of the four years the younger man had been away at school. _He wasn't _**_dying_**_ when he was in Palo Alto._...

No. He had another call to make first. He flipped the phone back open and scrolled down until he found the number. He dialed.

"_This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean, 785-555-0179. He can help_."

"...Hey, Dad. It's me. I, uh, haven't heard from you since Lawrence..." _That was lame, why did I say that?_ "Anyway...um, Sammy...well, he's sick, and the doctors say there's nothing they can do. But, uh...they've never dealt with a Winchester, right? So…. Anyway, he'll be fine. I promise. I...I guess I'll talk to you soon. Bye."

Dean snapped the phone shut and hurled it against the headboard of the bed in a sudden fit of anger. _The son of a bitch! Can't answer his phone for this **either**?_ He sat and stewed for a moment, trying to gather the energy to head for the hospital and tell Sam his news. His preparations were interrupted by a sudden, seemingly half-hearted knock at the door. _What the..?_

He rose and cautiously approached the door; his hand instinctively checked his waistband for his Beretta before reaching for the knob. He opened it, not knowing what or who he would see on the other side. The sight that greeted him was beyond unexpected.

"Sam?"

His brother gave him a weak, lopsided grin, and motioned inside, "You gonna let me come in? Some of us have trouble standing up this long..."

Spurred out of his shock, Dean slid his arm under Sam's and helped support his weight as he entered the room at a snail's pace. He couldn't help but note that Sam's heart was pounding, more like he was running a marathon than simply shuffling forward, and his breath was far too shallow. _He may not have as much time left as they said_... Dean shook away the grim thought as he lowered Sam onto the bed.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?"

"Couldn't stand any more daytime TV...besides, the nurses weren't hot enough for you, so I wanted to spare you another visit."

Dean offered him a small smile, knowing bravado when he heard it. Sam seemed to wilt a little under his gaze, "I was starting to wonder if you were coming back..."

It was Dean's turn to wilt when he realized that Sam wasn't joking about that. He really _had_ started to wonder. He moved to a chair in front of Sam, "I had alot of stuff to search through...I've been looking for anything that might help you."

Sam glanced around the room, noting the piles of papers and scribbled notes, "I can see that."

Dean self-consciously fidgeted with a nearby stack of papers about cardio-vascular treatment centers and transplants. None of the information he'd printed off the internet had been even remotely useful. Turns out that there wasn't much research devoted to the effects of amped-up tazers arcing through rawheads and zapping hunters. _Go figure_.

He turned back to Sam, noting with increasingly worry the obvious effort it was taking the younger man to simply stay awake.

"You want to lie down for a while? I can clean off the bed."

Sam shook his head, wheezing slightly as he breathed, "No. Laying down makes it hard to breathe. I, uh, I guess you haven't found anything, have you?"

"No. But I've talked to every contact in Dad's book, and Jefferson…who says 'hi' by the way…and he told me something that we can try."

That seemed to surprise Sam, who raised his eyebrows in silent questioning, Dean showed him an address, "He said there's a…well…a specialist in Nebraska."

He decided against the full truth, since if Sam found out the man in Nebraska was a faith healer, he'd probably refuse to go. Dean knew that, if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't give a faith healer the time of day, let alone waste time on a visit.

"Who?" Leave it to Sam to ask too many questions.

"Roy LeGrange. Jefferson said he might be able to help you."

"Dean…I don't think we really need any second opinions. Look…I, um, I came here…there are some things I need to say to you Dean, before…you know."

Dean frowned, he knew the 'just in case' speech when he heard it, and he didn't want to hear it, "Sam. No. We're going. You can talk all you want when you're better."

Sam looked miserable, "You know as well as I do that there might not be a later."

"Well…we can talk on the way then. That's fair, right?"

Sam seemed to deflate, "Okay. Mind if I just rest here for a few minutes, though? I don't think I can make it back out to the parking lot right now."

The admission cut Dean like a knife, "Sure, take as long as you want, Sammy. I'll start packing."

Dean took no pleasure in the victory. Sam looked horrible. He was so pale that Dean could see the veins underneath his skin. Even his eyes looked dimmer. The little gasps that marked each breath seemed to scream at him as he watched Sam struggle to push himself against the headboard.

They didn't have much time left. To do anything. To say…anything. And, after twenty-two years of watching over his little brother, he found that he had no idea what to say or where to begin.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry it took so long with this, but real life and a strike of writer's block kept me away. This ties up my Asylum/Faith reversal. _

_Thanks to gemini grl11 for being an excellent beta, as always. _

_Reviews welcomed. I don't own anything. _

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**Chapter 3 **

Sam fell into a restless sleep almost as soon as he reached the car. Dean didn't try and stop him. The kid was so pale he was almost gray. Of course, sleep wouldn't help that much, but at least Sam might stop wheezing if he relaxed. The short walk from the motel to the car had worn him out as though he'd been running laps.

An hour down the road, they were making pretty good time, and Dean was listening to Metallica, just loud enough to hear but not to disturb Sam's sleep. He about jumped out of his skin when Sam sighed loudly.

"Jesus, Sammy...you scared the crap out of me."

Sam looked bemused for a moment, then glanced back out the window. Even if Dean hadn't known his brother so well, he would have been able to tell that he was troubled. _Then again, who wouldn't be in this situation? _

"Dean," Sam started quietly, "I'm--- I'm really sorry."

Confused, Dean took his eyes off the road for a moment to look over. Sam was still staring out the window, his expression faraway.

"For what?"

Sam shook his head, his expression growing sad. "I'm running out on you again. Seems like that's all I've ever done... You deserved a better brother."

Dean could only blink for a moment, unsure where this depressing line of thought was coming from.

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"Everything..." Sam muttered. He was near tears.

"Sammy---"

Sam only shook his head, "I'm gonna try and sleep, okay? Wake me up when we get there."

Sam folded himself against the passenger door, his breath catching in his throat when he leaned too far back---like it had every other time he'd leaned too far back that morning---because of the pressure it caused in his chest. He resettled against the window and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam, come on, don't…." Dean trailed off. Sam had withdrawn. Reluctantly, he turned back to the road.

Dean was numb. What made Sam think that he wasn't what Dean deserved? _What did he deserve, exactly? Sam doesn't think he's a good enough brother? Where the hell would he get that idea? _

His mind drifted back to those awful moments in the Roosevelt Asylum. To the terrible things Ellicott had made him say.

_ I took all the flak when Dad was angry…I faced all your bullies…I spent my whole life trying to keep you safe…and what do you do? You run off to California, first chance you get. _

_I never wanted to spend my childhood changing diapers and cooking dinners for an ungrateful little snot like you. _

_ Where did Sam get the idea? Maybe because that's what I told him…. _

He wanted to find out, but Sam was already leaning against the window, his eyes closed and his arms wrapped protectively around himself. Left to his own thoughts, Dean tried to figure out what Sam's problem might be.

The last two months hadn't gone well, to put it mildly. First they were forced to visit their childhood home, then the hunt in that damned asylum nearly claimed Sam's life, and then the argument in Indiana. He felt queasy just thinking about the argument they'd had and the way they'd split up.

_It's called being a good son! _

_You're a selfish bastard, you know that? _

When he thought about it though, Sam had been different longer than that…since the asylum, really. Dean had dismissed it at first as sulking, like Sam had always done. His little brother was a master of internalizing anger and pain. Where Dean exploded or took his anger out on something or someone, Sam held it in. He'd seen Sam do that, more than once, over the years.

Eventually, it would lead to an explosion; like Dean's, only scarier. Like the night Sam left for Stanford, or the night a few weeks ago on the road in Indiana. As much as Dean liked to act superior to him, his little brother's anger was not something you wanted to be fooled with. Just ask John Winchester. _Hell, that's where Sam _got_ it_….

Now he wasn't so sure. He'd suspected right after the incident that Sam might have taken the things he said in that basement as the truth, but Sam refused to talk about it.

Dean snorted softly. _The one time I **want **a chick-flick moment_...

Dean glanced at Sam's still form, resisting the urge to check for a pulse. He shook his head sadly and turned back to the road. He had never had a problem getting his baby brother to talk. Hell, for most of the young man's life, he refused to shut up. But now, if Sam was thinking what Dean thought he was... _How am I supposed to fix this? How can I get through to him if he won't listen? _

He decided that once Sam was cured---he refused to think "if"---that he would pin Sam down and set him straight on all of the crap that was going on between them. All he had to do was make sure Sam got that far.

Another glance toward the passenger side made him press the gas down a bit harder.

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Sam struggled to draw in deep breaths. It was getting harder the longer he sat in the car. Hiding pain was more Dean's specialty, but Sam thought he'd hid his pretty well during this trip. Of course, trying to keep his labored breathing quiet also meant not talking, which was something he'd never been good at. He'd talked too much, according to some, since he was five. It was his way of dealing with things.

Not that it did any good; seemed like every time he opened his mouth he just wrecked things. Like with Dad. From his words in the asylum, Dean was no fonder of Sam's words than his father had been.

Now though, staying quiet, hiding his increasing pain and shortness of breath, meant not talking to Dean. Not talking to Dean during what Sam was convinced would be their last road trip together. Not talking to Dean and telling him how much he loved the big jerk and how much he wished he could do it all over again, only this time, he'd do it right.

The thought that he would never get to repay Dean for---well, his life---made his chest ache even more. He was startled out of his thoughts by Dean's unusually soft voice.

"Sammy, roll down the window if you need to. Get more air that way."

_ So much for hiding my problem…. _

He did as he was told, and the influx of cool air did help a little. He closed his eyes and breathed as deeply and steadily as he could. He needed to get out of the car soon.

The first clue that they'd arrived at their destination was the top of a large tent poking up behind a row of trees. Sam stared at it for a moment, then turned to Dean with what he hoped was more of a smirk than a grimace. He wasn't sure how successful he was.

"You taking me to see the Ringling Brothers?"

Dean smirked at him. "Don't think you being sick will keep me from kicking your ass."

Sam smiled at the genuinely normal remark from his brother. It felt a lot better than when Dean walked on eggshells around him. It almost made him forget why they were here. His smile faltered a little, when reality began to seep back in.

Sam caught a glimpse of a large billboard-type sign as Dean eased the Impala into the muddy parking lot in front of the tent and strained to read it as it rushed past.

THE CHURCH OF ROY LeGRANGE...

"What kind of practice did you say this guy had again?" he asked Dean quizzically.

Dean mumbled something that sounded like "fate sealer," which struck Sam as oddly funny at first, until he realized that it made no sense. He asked Dean to repeat his answer.

"He's, um... He's a faith healer."

Sam was dumbstruck for a moment._ A faith healer? What the hell? _

"What are we doing _here_?"

Dean stared out the window for a few long seconds, then turned back to Sam. For a moment, Sam saw a glimmer of utter desperation in those green eyes, before his brother's mask slipped back into place.

"I searched for three days, Sam. I talked to everyone in Dad's journal that would answer the phone. Jefferson said this guy seemed to be for real. This LeGrange guy is the only option I could find."

Sam couldn't help but be moved by the emotion in Dean's voice, but he had to shake his head slowly.

"Dean, you know all these guys are frauds. They're just after money. They use people's religion---"

"I know that Sam!" Dean shouted back. Sam could see his hands shaking.

"Hey...I know, okay?" Sam replied softly, "I'm sorry. I just--- This guy probably isn't any more real than any of the others…that's all I'm saying."

Dean's face softened and he looked away for a moment. Sam looked out in another direction, letting him regain his composure. When Dean turned back, his hands were still and his voice quiet but back to normal.

"I know this is a long shot, Sammy. But...we've got nothing to lose, you know? Let's check it out at least."

Sam looked at LeGrange's tent, watching people moving in and out. _What can it hurt at this point? _He took a shuddering breath and nodded once. "Okay."

Sam opened his door, and pushed himself up despite the soreness in his joints. He rose to his full height a little too fast and was struck with a wave of dizziness. He squeezed his eyes shut against the vertigo and fell back against the Impala before a strong grip on his arm steadied him. How Dean got around the car so fast, Sam didn't know.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Take it slow, Sammy. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Sam navigated the muddy, uneven parking lot well enough, though he noticed that Dean's hand never left his elbow. Dean's concern was touching, even though a small part of him wondered why Dean was **_doing _**it.

Not even a month earlier, Dean had tried to kill him. Sam had given up trying to decide which Dean was the real one...the fed up and hateful one that had shot him, or the frightened and determined one who was helping him across the lot to a tent in hopes of healing him.

Was possible for them _both_ to be real?

As they got closer, they came across a protestor being bullied by two sheriff's deputies. The man was shouting that LeGrange was a fake. Sam cast a glance at Dean, who shrugged, trying hard to look confident. They kept walking.

Under the canopythat ledinside, Sam stopped and gripped one of the support poles with his free hand.

"Dean, listen...if this doesn't work---"

"It will. It has to."

Sam grinned briefly, despite himself. "But, if it **_doesn't_**...I know you tried. I just wanted to say that...it means a lot to me."

Dean looked away for a moment, his eyes appearing suspiciously damp. He looked back, mask firmly in place, but his eyes still betrayed him. "If this doesn't work, then I'll just find something else. I'm not letting you go that easy."

Sam decided that this was the real Dean. Even his con man of a brother wasn't good enough to fake this. Of course, that still left the fed up and hateful part to deal with. But, sadly, Sam was running out of time to deal with that. He put aside the depressing line of thought and put a small, forced smile on his face. "Thanks."

"Hey," Dean smirked, cockiness back in place, "what are big brothers for?"

They entered the tent, taking note of their surroundings. A few feet in, he felt Dean's hand tighten on his arm and looked back to see what caused it. Sam followed his sibling's gaze up to the corner, where a security camera silently recorded everyone that entered.

"Yeah...peace, love and trust all over, huh?" Dean muttered, throwing Sam a wary glance.

Sam shrugged, but winced when a sharp pain lanced through his chest. He just wanted to sit down, regardless of who might be watching. He changed his direction and headed for a pair of open seats near the back.

Dean stopped him, pointing instead to two in the second row. "Uh-uh, up there. Come on."

"Dean---"

"Come on." Dean's tone brooked no argument. Sam reluctantly allowed himself to be herded up the aisle. Dean's overprotective bossiness was both encouraging and annoying.

They settled in just as Roy LeGrange took the stage.

Sam was barely listening to the preacher as he started off. It seemed like typical evangelical fair...folksy attitude, everybody is everyone's friend stuff, nothing unexpected.

Sam was growing increasingly distracted by the difficulty he was having breathing.

The doctor had talked to him several times during the three days Dean was out researching. The news hadn't been good. Sam's heart was deteriorating faster then expected, and it was taking the rest of his cardio-vascular system with it. The ominous results of the last test had driven him from the hospital to find Dean. The doctors had revised their estimate of his remaining time. Downward.

He refused to die in a cold hospital bed, alone, while his brother searched fruitlessly for answers. And couldn't stand the thought of dying without talking---_really _talking---to his brother one more time.

But, saying that and doing that…were two vastly different things. He'd tried, really tried, on the long trip here. But whenever he thought about talking to Dean, all he could think about was the snarling, hateful brother from the asylum. While his brother seemed determined to save his life, Sam wasn't sure if the hate was just below the surface…a scab waiting to be picked. So he'd backed down, losing his nerve. About three times already.

Of course, the more circuitous route---acceptance of the fact that he was dying---wasn't any easier around Dean. Dean was hell-bent on finding a way to "fix" him. Any attempt to say otherwise was shot down. Finally, Sam had given up and surrendered to the exhaustion that had plagued him since the electrocution. Dean Winchester was many things, but realistic wasn't one of them.

_At least, not when it comes to me and Dad... _

The thought of his father troubled him. They hadn't heard anything from their Dad since the phone call that sent them to Indiana. Sam wondered if his father even knew what had happened.

Or even cared.

Sam tuned his attention back to what the, apparently blind, reverend was saying.

"The Lord helps me see into people's hearts."

"Yeah, and into their wallets," Dean remarked quietly. Sam couldn't help but smile slightly. Sometimes Dean couldn't help himself.

He didn't speak quietly enough. "You think so, son?" Roy asked. Surprisingly, his voice carried no hostility. Dean looked like a deer in headlights. Sam blushed and tried his best to look smaller in his seat. Roy wasn't to be deterred.

"What's your name son?"

Dean cleared his throat self-consciously, "Um, Dean...Dean Winchester."

"Gotta be careful of us blind folk, Dean. We have real good ears." The crowd laughed. "Why are you here, Dean?"

"Um...well, my brother, Sam--- He's sick. The doctors…they can't do anything."

Sam was more than a little surprised to see Roy's head swivel ever so slightly in his direction._ I thought he was blind_...

"Sam?"

Frowning at the attention, Sam tried to sit a little straighter, despite the lingering aches in his joints. "Yes, sir?"

Roy hesitated, but only for a moment. "Why don't you come up here with me?"

A murmur spread through the crowd, and Sam's self-consciousness grew in strength, overwhelming even the powerful urge to placate his brother. "Uh, no...I couldn't..."

Dean leaned over, alarmed. "What are you doing? Get up there!"

Roy seemed to be looking right at him again. It was unsettling. "Don't be afraid, Sam. Please..."

With a silent sigh, Sam gave in to Dean's glare, and the crowd's growing words of encouragement, and pushed himself off the chair. He shrugged sheepishly when a woman sitting in the front row gave him a dirty look. He didn't know what had her angry at him, but he wasn't going to pursue it in front of all these people, either.

Climbing the steps was more daunting than it ordinarily would have been, but he managed without stumbling. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to have to carry him up to the stage. This was embarrassing enough as it was. He finally reached the stage with a small feeling of triumph, and moved to Roy's side, where the stagehand directed him. Sam tried not to feel the eyes of the crowd on him. Instead he focused on the stage. One old, ornate-looking black cross caught his attention.

_Where have I seen that before…?_ He wondered idly.

Roy raised his hands. "Pray with me friends..."

Sam was more than a little blinded by the stage lights, but he could have sworn that he saw Dean bow his head along with everyone else. He shook off the ludicrous thought. _Nah, I'm seeing things_...

Roy continued his---rather theatrical in Sam's opinion---prayer and placed his hand on Sam's forehead. Sam couldn't help but notice that Roy didn't have to grope around...his hand landed on Sam's forehead on the first try. The man was full of surprises.

At first, nothing happened. A short while later, he couldn't tell if it were seconds or minutes, a wave of energy entered Sam's body. It was similar to when he was electrocuted, but completely painless. As the almost-electric sensation took hold, he felt the temperature drop around him, and his legs turned to rubber beneath him. He crumbled to the floor as the sensation stopped.

He was vaguely aware of Roy speaking, Dean appearing and propping his head up, and the crowd applauding. But the bulk of his attention was focused at something right over Roy's shoulder. An old man, with a gray, wrinkled face and wearing a suit. The man, or whatever it was, was staring at him, like a craftsman admiring his handiwork, then he straightened and faded into thin air.

Sam had no time to wonder how that was possible before he passed out.

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"According to all of your tests, there's nothing wrong with your heart, and no sign that there ever was."

Sam eyed the female doctor with surprise. Dean seemed unconvinced. "You're sure? There's nothing wrong at all?"

She grinned, seeming amused. "Yes, I'm sure. His heart is fine."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding, and glanced at Dean, who clapped his hand down on Sam's shoulder happily. The doctor started collecting her papers.

"Man your age shouldn't be worried about a heart attack anyway," she began, but then sobered, "but, then again, there was that poor kid yesterday..."

He could have sworn that his and Dean's ears perked up at the same time. "Someone my age died of a heart attack yesterday?" Sam asked cautiously.

The doctor nodded, not noticing the change in their demeanors. "Yeah. Poor kid. Wasn't much older than you. Just dropped dead of a heart attack," she looked up, "well, anyway, you're free to go. Please excuse me."

She gathered her clipboards and charts and exited the room. Sam just sat for a moment, an odd sense of dread settling over him. He looked at Dean, whose lips were pursed thoughtfully.

"Weird, huh?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer. In his mind, he kept rolling over the doctor's words, and remembering something his dad had taught him. _Coincidences _do _happen. They happen every day. But, you can't trust them. _

"You okay?"

The concerned tone of voice made Sam turn back toward his brother. "Little odd, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That some guy dies of a _heart attack_ the same day I get my heart healed…."

Dean frowned. "I say, don't look gift horses in the mouth."

It was Sam's turn to frown. "When have you ever said that? I think we should check it out."

"Check _what_ out, Sam? Just because a random guy dies doesn't mean it's any of our business. I'm just happy---" Dean trailed off, looking away.

Sam blinked. "Happy about what?"

Dean turned back, looking pained by the question. "Jesus, Sam…I'm happy that you're okay! Why else would I be?"

The sound of Dean's words was so earnest, and so unlike his brother, that it caused Sam's breathe to hitch. It almost made him think that the last few weeks had only been in his mind. Almost. He ducked his head and breathed until he could trust his own voice.

"Dean…when I was up there, on the stage…it all felt wrong. I felt cold, and there was like this…electric charge to his touch. And…when Roy healed me, I saw something."

"Like what?" Dean replied, now on-guard.

"Someone over Roy's shoulder. An old man…he--- I don't think he was human."

Dean's frown returned, and he glanced at the door for a few long seconds before answering grudgingly.

"Okay, let's check around. Maybe Roy's…doing _something_."

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Roy LeGrange's house was large, but relatively modest inside. Sam sat in the den with Roy and his wife Sue Ann, drinking tea after his morning service.

"How are you, son?" Roy asked, with concern that sounded genuine.

"I'm fine. I'm…trying to make sense of what happened," Sam replied haltingly.

He had dropped off Dean to check out the gym where Marshall Hall had died the day before, before heading back to Roy's. Sam hoped speaking to the reverend off-stage, and away from his parishioners, might provide some answers.

Sue Ann, though, was providing most of the answers, much to Sam's disappointment.

"A miracle is what happened," she intoned almost gleefully, "Miracles happen so often around Roy."

Sam focused on Roy, hoping he'd speak for himself. "When did it start? The miracles?"

Roy smiled, squeezing his cane. "I woke up one morning stone blind. Doctor's said I had cancer. I went into a coma, and the doctors said I'd never wake up, but I did…and the cancer was gone," he removed his dark glasses, "if it wasn't for these eyes, no one would ever believe that it happened."

Sue Ann excused herself, going for more tea. Sam felt oddly relieved that she was gone, since she'd been hovering ever since Dean had let him off here. He turned to Roy and lowered his voice.

"Reverend---"

" Roy, please."

" Roy…why me?"

Roy seemed to expect the question. "Well, it's like I said. The Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and I knew what I had to do."

Sam couldn't let it go, even though he was almost afraid of the answer. "What did you see in my heart?"

Roy smiled. "I saw a young man with an important destiny...and he hadn't fulfilled it yet."

Sam blinked at that. It sounded like Roy knew more than he was letting on. "What kind of destiny? What did you see?"

Sue Ann reappeared from the kitchen, and Roy seemed to clam up. He smiled ruefully. "You'll find out soon enough. Just remember, son, the Lord never gives us more than He knows we can handle."

Sam frowned. It wasn't the answer he was looking for. But he sensed that Roy wasn't going to get into it around his wife. Disappointed, Sam thanked them both and took his leave.

On his way out, he passed some more of Roy's "flock," including one girl he'd heard talking at the previous day's service. The older woman of the two, whom Sam assumed was the girl's mother, shot him an icy glare.

"Why are you still here? You _got_ what you wanted."

Put off by her open hostility, Sam muttered an apology and decided to retreat. He headed for the Impala.

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It was almost lunchtime by the time Dean made it back to the motel. Entering the room, he found Sam sitting in front of the laptop, looking glum. Whatever his brother had learned, it didn't appear to be good. Hoping for the best, he mustered some cheer.

"Hey, Sammy. You get anything out of Roy?"

Sam wasn't affected by Dean's charm, unfortunately. "Not exactly. Nothing _useful_."

Dean grunted, a little hesitant to report his own findings. "Well, I found something. Marshall Hall died at 4:17. Precisely 4:17."

Sam looked at him questioningly, so Dean spelled it out. "The clock stopped. It wasn't something natural."

Sam nodded, connecting the rest of the dots. "The same time I was healed?"

"I'm afraid so." Dean confirmed. Sam didn't seem nearly as surprised as Dean thought he would be.

Sam pointed to the laptop. "Well, it fits with the pattern I've found. Six people over the past year---I cross-checked the local obits---each of them died about the same time that someone else was healed."

_It makes sense_. Dean shook his head. "So, Roy is trading one life for another."

"Yeah," Sam replied tightly, his whole body a coiled spring. Dean could see the explosion building. He'd seen the signs enough times to know. The stony face, the mouth pulled into a tight line, the way his knuckles turned white as he squeezed his fists shut. Sam was furious.

"Why did you bring me here, Dean?"

Seeing the trouble coming didn't soften the blow any. "Sam---"

"Marshall Hall died because of me!" Sam shouted.

Dean bit back an angry retort. Sam couldn't possibly blame him for this. But, then, Dean knew where the accusation was coming from. Hall wasn't the first one that Sam felt had died in his place. "Sam, come on. He probably would have died anyway. Someone else would have been healed, and he still would have died."

Sam's anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by resignation. "You should never have brought me here."

Dean heard the unspoken half of that sentence as clearly as if Sam had said it aloud. _Now there's another death on my conscience_.

"Sammy, I didn't know. Neither did you. We couldn't have known."

His words seemed to penetrate, and Sam deflated before Dean's eyes. "I know. Hell, I probably would have done the same thing if I were you," he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Christ...this is so messed up."

He seemed to withdraw, and Dean let him have his space, busying himself looking over what Sam had uncovered online. The more he looked at the information, the clearer the situation became to him. "Huh. I didn't want to believe it, but it's gotta be. I think they're using a reaper." When Sam looked up, he repeated it. "We're dealing with a reaper."

Sam perked up at that. Now they had a hunt to concentrate on. "A reaper? Like..._the _Grim Reaper?"

And it helped to give Geek Boy a new research project.

"Well, not _the _Reaper, but _a _reaper, yeah. They're the only things that can give and take life like that," Dean explained.

Now that they had something to focus on, it didn't take them long to hash out the details. Dean had missed this---the way they bounced ideas off each other---in the weeks since the asylum. But, that was a whole other problem to deal with. He still wasn't sure how to approach that one. But, he knew that it needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

They identified the cross Sam had seen in Roy's tent after flipping through the deck of tarot cards they carried with Dad's journal.

"So, they're using black magic to bind the reaper..." Dean mused thoughtfully. Black magic relied heavily on altars and other paraphernalia...which made it relatively easy to disrupt.

Sam shook his head, "If he is, it's like putting a leash on a Great White. Dean...we've got to stop this..."

"No kidding. Roy does--- What? Three shows a day?"

"I think so," Sam replied.

Dean checked his watch. "Well, if we leave now we can catch him before the second show."

Sam blinked. "What do we do? Go in and expose him? No one would believe us."

"Probably not," Dean admitted grudgingly, "but maybe we can break up the show before he kills somebody else."

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The next few hours were a blur.

Sue Ann was the one they were looking for, not Roy. She'd bound the reaper to save Roy's life, but instead of letting it go, decided to continue using it as a means of eliminating people she viewed as immoral.

Dean had tried to convince the next person in line to be healed, a girl named Layla---as it turned out, the same girl Sam had passes at Roy's that morning---that Roy's healing power wasn't what it seemed. But the girl was desperate, dying, and wouldn't listen. Sam couldn't blame her. Their first attempt to stop the healing had only gotten Dean kicked off the grounds.

They couldn't even save the protestor from being murdered.

Worse, the attempt had caused Sue Ann to set her sights on _Dean_.

Wrecking the altar didn't seem to discourage Sue Ann, which made Sam think that she might have a backup method of controlling the reaper. She'd seemed plenty confident when she'd locked him down here.

Sam looked around for something to help him out of the cellar. He spied part of a wooden beam, and used it to bash the dryer exhaust window open. A few hard blows and the wooden frame was knocked out. He climbed up on the dryer and squeezed his shoulders through the small opening. It was a tight fit, and for a moment, he got snagged on a nail and panicked.

Every second he lost was one more second Sue Ann had to send the reaper after his brother. He forced himself to calm down and get free of the window. It didn't take long. He freed himself, tumbled to the ground with a grunt, and ran around to the front of the house.

He could see Dean from there. His elder sibling was looking for a way past the two sheriff's deputies that were guarding the tent's front entrance. But, from the way the lights along the fence were blinking out one by one, Sam didn't think Dean was going to make it that far.

The reaper was coming.

It definitely wasn't enough to wreck the altar.

Scanning the area, he saw Sue Ann by a side entrance to the big tent, and took off running toward her. She was clutching her necklace and saying something. Chanting, he figured.

He quieted, but did not slow, his approach as he got close in behind her. He could hear her now...she seemed to be speaking Latin. He didn't try to interpret the words, just reached over her shoulder and yanked the necklace from her grasp. He put enough momentum into the motion for the necklace to slam into the concrete foundation of the tent and shatter. Blood ran out of the red globe at the bottom of the old cross.

"My God, what have you done?" she screamed in horror.

"He's not _your _God," Sam spat back angrily.

Before she could retort, she froze, staring down the fence line at something Sam couldn't see. She clutched her chest, crying out in terror, then crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Sam glanced around, but still couldn't see the reaper, which he assumed was responsible. The lights along the fence began clicking back on, one at a time. Even the chill in the air lessened somewhat.

Sam paused only momentarily before jogging off to find Dean. His brother was just reaching the Impala when Sam found him.

"You okay?"

Dean was still looking toward the tent, and just shook his head. "Helluva week."

Sam was concerned about Dean's condition, but it wasn't a good idea to linger. Someone would discover Sue Ann's body soon. "All right. Come on, we should get going."

They dropped into the car and left Roy's church as quietly as the Impala would allow. About a mile down the road, when they were sure no one was following them, Sam turned toward Dean.

"Are you really okay?"

Dean glanced at him, with a frown. "Think so. Feel like my head was turned inside out, but I'm okay. I take it you stopped Sue Ann?"

"Yeah. Reaper turned on her."

The way Dean's face paled at that told Sam that he need not explain further. They rode the rest of the way to the motel in silence.

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Sam didn't sleep that night. Sue Ann was misguided, and was seriously deluded, but watching her die right in front of him had still been hard. It wasn't the kind of justice he'd dreamed of when he was at Stanford.

Dean was less concerned with Sue Ann than he was with Layla, the girl they'd prevented from being healed. Sam had kept thoughts of her locked away when they'd gone in to stop the reaper. It had been the only way to deal with the situation rationally. The way his Dad would have.

But, lying on his bed, in the dark, it was hard not to feel hypocritical about it. Why was he any more worthy of being saved than Layla was? Maybe they could have waited---

No. Then they would have been just as bad as Sue Ann.

_You said it yourself, Dean, we can't play God_.

The words sounded hollow to him now. Self-righteous. It hadn't bothered Dean when it was Sam's head on the proverbial chopping block. And while Marshall Hall's death bore heavily on him...when it came right down to it, Sam hadn't minded at the time either. He'd told Dean that he wouldn't have hesitated to let Roy "heal" Dean if their places had been reversed and he meant it. Ultimately, Sue Ann's evil had tainted all of them.

Dean was taking Layla's disappointment harder though. He had met her during the first attempt to stop Roy, and was obviously feeling more than a little guilty over being the one to deny Layla her chance at life.

Sam had two people to feel guilty over, though Layla was a distant second in his mind.

Dawn finally broke, releasing Sam from his guilt-ridden prison. He rose quietly, eyeing Dean to make sure he didn't wake his brother unnecessarily. He scribbled a note to Dean, saying he'd be back, grabbed the car keys and stepped outside.

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Sam drove aimlessly for a while, long enough for the sun to rise all the way above the horizon. The rainy weather that had marred the past few days was lifting. Some small part of his brain wondered if the change in weather was related to the release of the reaper. Maybe he should check and see what kind of weather this area had been having. He shook off the thought, blaming Dean's obsession with creepy horror movies.

Before long, he found himself back in Roy LeGrange's parking lot. He blinked, not really remembering when he decided to come here.

A crowd was leaving Roy's house. Well-wishers and mourners, he assumed. Sam was torn between going up and offering his own condolences, and just letting the matter drop. Dean was probably awake by now.

Some of the mourners were still lingering when Sam gathered enough courage to leave the car and walk up to the house. Roy was sitting on the front porch, holding his cane in one hand and a bible in the other.

" Roy?"

The reverend frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Sam? That you, son?"

"Yeah," Sam replied hesitantly, staying near the steps. Roy motioned him over to a chair next to his.

"I, um...I just wanted to say I was sorry...about your wife," Sam stammered out.

Roy smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that, Sam."

"I wish things could have been different," Sam whispered, realizing too late that he might be giving away more than he should know. Roy seemed to pick up on it before Sam could backpedal.

"Sue Ann...she was--- She was into something bad, wasn't she? Something...evil?"

Sam's blood ran cold. How could Roy know? He remembered what the preacher had said about looking into his heart. He took a shot in the dark.

"Your ears aren't the only things that are sharp, huh?"

Roy laughed lightly. "I guess not."

"You're a psychic?"

The preacher nodded, "Started when I woke up from that coma. Mostly I could just know things about the people I healed. But I felt things from Sue Ann too. I knew she was the one that let me heal people. It was always her. I just didn't know how she was doing it," Roy paused, "but you do...don't you?"

Sam nodded out of reflex, even knowing that Roy couldn't see him. "Yes."

"I have a pretty good idea what you and your brother do for a living, son, I saw it in you. The way Sue Ann helped me heal people…whatever it was...did it kill her?"

Sam almost said "yes," but stopped. Roy was a true believer, he knew that much. It wasn't always necessary to tell the truth. Roy truly believed. And Sam knew how important that faith was. He wouldn't risk ripping it away by telling the poor man what Sue Ann had really been involved in. The world was dark enough, already. So, he hedged. "She traded away her life. She did it for you."

Half of the truth, anyway.

He offered his condolences again, and excused himself. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Roy speak again.

"Sam?"

Sam stopped. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for lying to me," Roy said ruefully, "Take care of yourself, son."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean was sitting on the bed, making a show of packing his clothes, but not getting much accomplished, when the door opened and Sam returned.

"You were gone a long time."

Sam dropped the car keys onto the dresser, and took his coat off slowly. "Yeah."

Dean looked at him, his concern at Sam's absence not relieved by Sam's tone. "You okay?"

His younger brother move past him and sat on the bed, near his own unpacked bag. "I went to see Roy."

"Really?" Dean asked cautiously, still watching him, "How'd that go?" He didn't ask why Sam went.

Silence descended over the room. Dean went back to almost-packing; Sam just stared at the wall. They stayed that way for a long time before Sam broke the quiet.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you just---" he broke off, looking away.

_Let me die_.

Dean wanted to be angry. He wanted to be insulted that Sam needed to ask. But, all he could do was sink down onto the bed opposite his brother.

"How can you ask me that?" he asked quietly.

Sam met his gaze, and the hurt look made Dean flinch. Sam spoke softly, "After everything that's happened--- After the asylum---" He couldn't seem to complete a sentence, "You hate me. You _told_ me that. It wasn't Ellicott or a demon...it was you. You hate me enough to want me dead. Now you bring me here to keep me alive. What the hell am I _supposed _to think?"

"Sam---"

Sam jumped up and started pacing the room like a caged animal. "And I can't blame you for it, either. After everything I've done, the way I've acted…"

Dean tried again, "Sam---"

"You have every right to hate me. Hell, you shouldn't even be speaking to me---"

"Sam!"

The younger man spun toward him, surprised by Dean's interruption. Dean continued while he had the floor. "I don't hate you."

It sounded lame and unconvincing even to his ears. Was that the best he could do?

Sam reacted with hostility. It wasn't a surprise. He was just like his older brother in a lot of ways.

"Damn it, don't sit there and lie to me, Dean! I heard you! You weren't possessed…that was YOU talking in that basement!"

Dean held up his hands in surrender. _The moment of truth, I guess_. "Yes. Yes it was. But---"

"But what?!"

A month's worth of repressed frustration and grief broke through Dean's elaborate inner walls. Sam had pushed hard enough to break them. He practically jumped off the bed and started pacing himself. He ended up at the window staring out at the motel's back lot. When he thought he could speak without shouting, he let anger come.

"Goddammit, Sam. He reached into my head. That bastard Ellicott---"

He broke off, unable to continue for a moment. He glanced back out of the corner of his eye. Sam was standing there, still facing the bed. He wasn't looking, but Dean knew he was listening. This was his chance to fix the mess the asylum hunt had made. He took a deep breath and started over.

"When I went downstairs…I was upset. I thought you were in trouble, and my mind was just racing…I was complaining, you know? I was thinking about how you never listened, and how you were always getting into trouble," he spoke faster when he saw Sam about to protest, "I know it's all crap. But, I just fell into that 'big brother' mode that bugs you so much. It was just a way to focus…I just needed to find you before anything happened. And then…that psycho ghost got me, and he latched onto those things…those thoughts that were running around in circles. He used them to get in my head."

Sam was definitely listening now, and had turned toward him. Dean swallowed and kept going while he still had the resolve.

"He dredged up everything. Stuff I hadn't thought about in years…or didn't want to."

Sam's shoulders slumped, and he sat wearily on the bed. "The stuff you said. It was all true, wasn't it? It wasn't just Ellicott talking through you."

Dean sighed, knowing this was the tough part. The part that made him feel ashamed. "Yes."

Sam looked about as defeated as he had ever seen him. He stepped over and nudged his brother's shoulder to keep his attention. He had to finish this.

"Yes, I was mad. It--- I was so mad when you left. You walked out. I needed you…but you didn't need me. I know you think it was just between you and Dad, but…I was there too."

Sam looked up at him sharply, tears in his eyes. "I knew that! Walking away that night…it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life! I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go off without---"

He trailed off. Even now, there were things Winchesters could never say out loud. Dean took up the slack in the conversation, a little laugh escaping his lips.

"Jeez, Sammy. I was so damned annoyed that you were smarter than me. Hell, I taught you how to read and write. But, even when you were six years old, I could tell you were a freakin' genius. How unfair is that, huh? I raised you and you end up better than me."

Sam shook his head emphatically, "No. Not better, Dean---"

Dean kept going, ignoring the protest. "But I didn't hate you for that. There were always little things…things that annoyed me or I felt, I dunno---" He stopped, panicked. There were some things Dean simply couldn't admit to, no matter how necessary it might be. No big brother could reveal all of his insecurities to his little brother. He couldn't do that, not even for Sam. He switched gears and got back to the important part.

"But, the anger? That was him. Ellicott made me feel the rage. I never hated you. I _couldn't_."

He paused, hoping his words were getting through. Sam's eyes were downcast, and he was obviously struggling to reel in his emotions, but a phantom of a smile was pressing at the corners of his mouth. Dean dared to hope that he was making Sam understand.

"He got to me, too. Right before the end. I felt this…surge of hatred toward you," Sam shook his head, "there was nothing you could have done. He was too strong."

Dean heard the Winchester-speak beneath the words. _I get it. _

"Well," Dean replied slowly, "I guess I should be happy you didn't shoot me back." _I'm sorry_.

"It wouldn't have taken much more. He worked fast." _Me too_.

Dean joined him on the edge of the bed, his shoulder just barely touching his younger sibling's. An invitation.

Sam leaned a fraction of an inch closer. Invitation accepted.

They merely sat for a long while, struggling to get their masks back on. It was Sam who finally broke the silence, never able to stay quiet for long.

"Your little _genius_ apparently isn't smart enough to know that you don't fire a taser from inside a puddle," he said quietly.

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, well…lots of geniuses lack common sense."

Sam's ghost of a smile grew into a real one. Dean shrugged.

"Dean Winchester, Super Hunter, isn't good enough to keep from getting whammied by a psycho with a lobotomy fetish."

Sam pushed slightly with his shoulder, and didn't miss a beat.

"And his little brother has to save his ass."

Dean pushed back with his shoulder. "You'd better not tell anyone."

"Never," Sam replied with mock seriousness. The silence returned, but it wasn't oppressive.

They sat some more, just resting.

" Roy's a psychic."

Dean glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "Just with people he healed. I guess it's something he was getting from the reaper."

"Neat," Dean mused. It was nice to feel his connection to Sam again. It had been too long. He felt like he was emerging from a long, dark tunnel.

Sam took a long, lingering breath. "You ready to get out of here?"

"Like you wouldn't believe, Sammy."

END


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